Put a Ring On It (18 page)

“D
one.” Brighton brought her left hand down on the Whinery's glossy black bar top. “Good thing we never bought a ring.”

“You just called the whole thing off?” Kira sipped a frosty glass of chardonnay.

“I had to.” Brighton stared down at her naked finger. “His ex showed up at the front door.”

“Your ex showed up at the front door, too,” Kira pointed out.

“Yes, and when my ex showed up, I told him to get off the porch and never darken my door again. Jake, on the other hand . . .” She heaved a mighty sigh. “I'm just another bimbo from the bar to him, Kira. He would've married any hysterical dumpee who'd walked in the door.”

Kira offered Brighton a sip of chardonnay.

“I'm sure that's not true.”

“Yes, it is.” Brighton tasted the crisp, chilled white wine. “And
look, I know I don't have any moral high ground here, given that I pretty much live-tweeted our drive-through ceremony to rub it in Colin's face, but at least I was honest.” She crumpled up a napkin. “I hate to admit this, but I wouldn't have married anyone else that night. It's
him
. There's something about him.”

“Oh, I agree.” Kira fanned her face.

“I lo—” Brighton hastened to correct herself. “I
like
him. A lot. He took me midnight skateboarding in his downstairs hall.”

Kira squinted at her. “Is some sort of euphemism?”

“I wanted to believe that I was special to him, but no. I was just a preemptive strike against Genevieve.”

“Genevieve,” Kira spat out. “I haven't even met her, but I already hate her.”

“Thank you. You're a good friend.” Brighton passed the wineglass back. “Here's a question for you: He told me he'd never been married before, when in fact he'd had an annulment. Is that a lie or not a lie?”

“Hmm.” Kira rested her chin in her hand. “I'd call it a gray area. But here's a better question: Did you learn anything from all this?”

“Yes,” Brighton answered immediately. “I learned that until two weeks ago, I had no clue how good sex could actually be.”

Kira's eyes widened. “Really?”

“There are no words.” She suppressed a little shiver just thinking about it. “I should have gotten one last hit before I cut off my supply.”

“We're back to the drug analogies?”

“It's fitting,” Brighton assured her. “In fact, Jake himself—”

“Hey, ladies.” Lila appeared next to Brighton. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Brighton introduced Kira to Lila, then added, “I was just telling Kira here that Jake and I are officially over.”

“What?” Lila cried.

“What?!” Jenna the bartender, who had been standing all the way on the other side of the bar, swooped in to get the details. “Why?”

Brighton smoothed her hair. “It just isn't working out. We're two very different people.”

“So what?” Jenna gaped at her.

“We're going to have an amicable divorce and I'm sure we'll always be friends,” Brighton tried.

“Try that one more time, with ninety percent less BS. What happened?” Lila demanded.

“Yeah, why would you want to be
friends
with Jake Sorensen?” Jenna demanded. “Have you
looked
at him?”

Brighton finally cracked. “We had a fight.”

“About what?” Jenna and Lila chorused.

“That's not relevant,” Brighton murmured. “But I got caught up in the heat of the moment and said things I didn't mean. Well, I did mean them, but I should have waited to say them.”

“The good thing about Jake is, he's very reasonable,” Lila said. “No drama.”

“I don't think I've ever seen him get mad at anyone,” Jenna added.

“That's because he doesn't actually care about anyone.”
Except his first wife, apparently.
Brighton took a morose swig of water.

Kira jumped into the conversation. “I think their point is, regardless of what you said in the heat of the moment, he's not going to hold a grudge.”

As Brighton glanced out the window at the town square, a skateboarder sped by, picking up speed as he headed for the pier.

She knew a sign from the universe when she saw one. “So what you're saying here is that I don't have to go cold turkey just yet. I could go back to his house and, you know. Get some ‘closure.'” She used her fingers to make air quotes.

“Do it,” Jenna advised. “I would.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Kira asked.

“No.” But Brighton felt a surge of relief and anticipation at the very thought. “It's totally stupid. The smart thing to do would be to get in my car, drive back to New Jersey, and send him some divorce papers via courier.”

Lila looked traumatized. “What? No! You can't do that! I need you to keep working with me for the rest of the summer.”

“I wish I could,” Brighton said. “But we always knew I was a short-term employee.”

“I was so sure you would get sucked into the whole beach-town scene.” She grinned and clarified, “By which I mean the whole Jake Sorensen scene.”

“He's a hard man to leave,” Brighton mused. “But I will leave him.”

Another sip of water.

“Tomorrow.”

Kira pressed her lips together in an obvious effort not to comment.

“I just want one more time. And why not, really? I've made so many bad decisions lately, why stop now?”

“And you never know,” Lila said. “Maybe you'll go back to his place and you'll talk and laugh and bond . . .”

“Or maybe I'll go back there and he'll already have some woman sweating all over the sheets in the master suite.” She
exchanged a look with Kira. “A blond, blue-blooded socialite, perhaps.”

“No!” Lila cried. “He wouldn't!”

There was a long, loaded pause.

“Would he?”

Brighton got to her feet and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”

•   •   •

As soon as she pulled into the driveway at Don't Be Koi, the front door opened and Jake appeared on the porch. “You came back.”

She could tell from his voice that he'd kept drinking scotch after she'd left. He started toward her and she started up the stairs. They crossed paths in the middle, Brighton standing two steps above Jake so that they were eye to eye. She rested her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his soft cotton T-shirt.

He kissed her before she could say a word and she leaned into him, relieved to skip all the arguments that would ultimately resolve nothing.

“I'm not staying,” she murmured as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He slid his hands down to her hips and picked her up.

“This doesn't mean anything.” She wrapped her legs around his waist.

He kept kissing her. He tasted like scotch.

“We're still getting divorced.” She tilted her head back so he could kiss her neck.

He carried her up the stairs, turned around, and kicked the door open with his heel.

She tried to savor all the sensations—the high, the thrill, the certainty that she'd never experience this kind of intensity again.

He put her on her feet and she pulled off his shirt, then her shirt.

As they made their way to the bedroom, she promised herself that this would be the last time, that this would be enough.

That this moment of weakness would give her the strength to let go.

•   •   •

“You are so beautiful.” Jake's voice was rough, but his hands were gentle, stroking Brighton's hair back from her forehead.

She turned her face to one side. “Don't say that.”

He gazed down at her. “You are.”

“I know you've been with women who are way more glamorous than I am.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I have. But they weren't you.”

She had yearned to hear these words from him, but now that he was saying them, she didn't believe him. He was so good at telling her what she wanted to hear, but so guarded with his true intentions.

The curtains rustled as a breeze blew in through the balcony doors.

“Gatorade?”

Brighton shifted against him, sated and a bit sweaty. “Mmmm. I really should go.”

“Don't move.” The mattress dipped as he sat up. “I just bought a six-pack. Orange. It's in the fridge downstairs.”

Well. She
was
thirsty after all that exertion. “Okay, but can I ask you one thing first?” She placed her palm between his shoulder blades. “What did she say?”

He didn't have to ask what she was referring to. “She said a lot
of things. Bottom line, her grandfather died and her father lost most of the family fortune.”

“I know how that feels.” Brighton thought about the sick, nervous feeling she got in her stomach when she saw her mother's name on her phone.

“She still has the Van Petten name, but the money's gone.” He stood up, keeping his back to her.

Brighton propped herself up on her elbows. The sheets felt soft and smooth against her skin. “Did she tell you that?”

“No, but it's a small state. I know what's going on.”

“And now she wants your help?” Brighton prompted.

“She wants my money.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She's willing to deal with me as a means to an end.”

Brighton sat up straighter. “She said that?”

“No. She said things like ‘nostalgia' and ‘mistake' and ‘first love.'”

“Well, what did you say?” Brighton held her breath, her eyes wide in the darkness.

“I told her I'm already married to someone else.”

Ah yes, his little human shield.

Before Brighton could start on her long list of follow-up questions, his cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at it, frowning. Then he picked it up.

“You're going to
answer
it?” She was too incredulous to be mad.

“If this guy is calling me at this hour, it must be important.” Jake picked up the phone. “Life or death.” He answered the call with a terse, “Sorensen.”

Brighton buttoned her shirt as Jake's frown deepened.

“Who is it?” she whispered. “The developer from Mexico?”

“No.” He listened intently for a moment, then passed the phone to Brighton. “It's for you.”

“T
hanks for meeting me so early.” Malcolm Toth, Jake's cybersecurity consultant and Lila's boyfriend, was waiting by the front door of the Naked Finger shortly after dawn the next morning.

“No problem.” Brighton tried to think caffeinated thoughts. “Lila mentioned you do, like, supersecret spy stuff.”

The former marine, who seconds ago had appeared stony faced and imposing, laughed with surprising warmth. “Lila exaggerates.”

“Are you sure? You look pretty badass to me.”

“My badass days are behind me,” he assured her. “But I do need your help with a covert mission. You can't tell anyone.”

“Okay.” Brighton unlocked the door and ushered him into the showroom.

“Especially Lila.”

She glanced back at him, confused. “Why not? Aren't you guys pretty close?”

“Yeah, but I want her to be surprised when I propose.”

Brighton whirled around, banging her wrist against the corner of a glass case in the process. “Tell me
everything
.”

And with that, the last traces of flinty-eyed brusqueness vanished. “You have to keep this on lockdown.”

“Lockdown. Absolutely.” Brighton cradled her injured wrist in her other hand. “But how long do I have to live with this secret eating away at me?”

“Depends how soon I can get the ring.”

“Then let's get to work.” Brighton snatched up her sketch pad and a pen. “What are you thinking?”

“No idea,” he confessed. “I want to give her a ring she'll love, and jewelry isn't my thing.”

Brighton sat down and performed a jewelry-style profile on Lila. “She usually wears classic pieces with a whimsical twist.”

“Whimsical?” Malcolm's forehead had started to perspire ever so slightly, despite the chill from the air conditioner. “Okay. Let's go with that.”

Brighton tried to remember the pieces Lila had admired over the past two weeks. “I know she likes Asscher-cut diamonds. We can use one of those for the center stone, flanked by . . . what?”

The marine broke as though Brighton had been interrogating him for hours. “I don't know. I love her, but I don't know a damn thing about jewelry.”

“Calm down,” Brighton advised. “Deep breaths.”

“I'll pay you whatever you want.” Malcolm brandished his wallet. “Just help me.”

Brighton waved this away. “You're not paying me anything. I'm happy to help. Everything's going to be fine.”

Malcolm took a minute to pull himself together. “Could we put some red in there somewhere?”

Brighton nodded encouragingly. “Could you be just a tiny bit more specific?”

“We have . . . a history with the color red. Red dresses.” He cleared his throat. “That sort of thing.”

“How about ruby baguettes?” Brighton suggested. “We have a pair of matched ruby earrings. I could take them out of the settings and put one on either side of the center diamond.”

“Sounds good.” He paused, gave her an assessing look, and started to say something several times.

“Spit it out,” she advised. “I'll keep it in the vault. Literally. We have three fireproof, bulletproof safes in the back room.”

“Is there any way we could include a, uh, needle in the design?”

Brighton strove to maintain a poker face. “What kind of needle?”

“Regular, run-of-the-mill needle.” Was the burly marine
blushing
?

“Like a sewing needle?”

“Sure, go with that.”

Brighton sat back, mulling her design options. “Well. I guess I could solder a needle along one side of the shank. No one else will be able to tell what it is, though.”

“That's the point.”

“Consider it done. It's going to look fantastic.”

“And you won't say anything to Lila?”

“I'm the soul of discretion. I'll tell her we sold the ruby studs,” Brighton said. “I'll write up a receipt for them and you can pay cash. And good news, I'm giving you a screaming deal on them.”

“Then we're done here.” He visibly relaxed. “That was easier than I thought.”

She smiled. “And here I thought ring selection was the easy part of marriage.”

“Not for men,” Malcolm said. “It's a toss-up between a jewelry store and a war zone.”

“But you're here anyway,” she pointed out. “You got it done.”

He stood up and crossed his arms, reverting to macho masculinity. “I'd do anything for her.”

Brighton managed to make it to the back room before she started crying.

•   •   •

“What are you doing here?” Lila looked bewildered when she arrived at the Naked Finger twenty minutes later to find Brighton weeping her way through a box of tissues. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Brighton plucked the last tissue from the box.

Lila put down her purse and waited.

“Nothing!” Brighton broke into hiccups. “Just allergies.”

“Do you want to take the morning off?”

“No.” Brighton drew a ragged breath. “Just give me a minute to splash some cold water on my face and, um, take my allergy meds.”

“Go home,” Lila ordered.

But Brighton didn't have a home here. She certainly couldn't go back to Jake's house. “I need to work. I need to be productive.”

“Then you're in luck. I have a design job for you.” Lila looked excited, then chagrined. “But this isn't the right time.”

“Yes, it is. Please, give me a job to do.” Brighton pushed aside the tissue box and reached for her sketch pad.

“You're sure?”

“Positive. Hit me.”

Lila's big brown eyes sparkled as she confided, “I want you to help me with a man's ring. I'm going to ask Malcolm to marry me.”

Brighton froze, her pencil suspended in midair. “You . . . what? Why?”

“Don't look so scandalized.” Lila laughed. “This isn't 1850, you know. Malcolm and I haven't had a conventional courtship. From the very beginning, I broke protocol.” She ticked off her acts of dating defiance on her fingers. “I called him first; I asked him out. I
was a shameless hussy, and let me tell you, it is paying off in spades. So I'm thinking the next logical step will be proposing. I'll take him by surprise. I know he'll say yes.”

Brighton stopped sniffling. “I'm sure he will. But—”

“I want a simple platinum band, no frills, nothing fancy. That part I can take care of by myself.” Lila's eyes got even sparklier. “But I want you to engrave the inside. One word:
Proliferation
.” She grinned. “Don't ask.”

“Oh, I wasn't going to.”

“Can you do that?”

“Sure, engraving is simple enough. Just pick a band and I'll get on it. But—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the shop door swung open and Dumplin' strutted in. Once again, the busty blonde's skirt was short, her hair was high, and her entire wardrobe—from hoop earrings to handbag to high heels—was emblazoned with designer logos.

“Oh good, you're here.” She made a beeline for Brighton, ignoring Lila completely. “I was telling my friend how much I love my new watch.”

Brighton glanced at Dumplin's companion, then had to do a double take. She recognized the tall, willowy redhead from a slew of romantic comedies . . . and, more recently, from the tabloid covers at the grocery checkout. Clea Cole had dated her way through Hollywood's A-list before settling down with Carson St. Giles, an actor who contributed to children's charities when he wasn't starring in summer action flicks.

But now, after several years of photo-op bliss, Clea and Carson were divorcing.

Lila had mentioned that celebrities occasionally retreated to Black Dog Bay after breaking up with their boyfriends or
husbands, but Brighton was still a bit starstruck. She did her best not to stare. “I'm glad you like it.”

“I look like a rap star. That's a good thing,” Dumplin' said.

Brighton glanced around. “How's your . . . gentleman friend doing?”

“Who?” Dumplin' seemed genuinely mystified for a moment. “Oh, you mean Hiram? We broke up right after I picked up the watch.” Dumplin' punctuated this with an exasperated sigh and an eye roll.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Brighton murmured.

“Don't be.” Dumplin' laughed. “He had truckloads of money, but not enough to pay me to go bass fishing with him all day.”

“Oh,” Brighton said weakly. “Well, that's . . .”

“I guess if I were a lady, I'd return all the jewelry he bought me, but I figure I've earned it.” Dumplin' let loose with a raucous laugh.

“You are so crass.” Clea Cole finally spoke up. Her voice was as rich and cultured in person as it was on camera.

“Which is why you've been my best friend since middle school,” Dumplin' concluded cheerfully. “Anyway, I want you to make something for my friend here. She's having a tough summer and she needs some cheering up.”

“Pleased to meet you; I'm Brighton.” Brighton extended her right hand and tried to forget the fact that she'd read all about this woman's split from her husband during her last visit to the dentist. The actress didn't appear to be suffering—she looked fantastic even in jeans and a white T-shirt, and the article about her breakup
(titled “A Perfectly Pleasant Parting”) had included interviews with her and her ex, both of whom raved about how much they still adored and respected each other. (“We've evolved past petty and bitter,” Clea had been quoted as saying. “I'm so grateful Carson has shared this portion of my journey.”)

“I'm Clea.” She leaned in and bestowed a double air-kiss on Brighton. “I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for. Something one of a kind. Amber says you do excellent design work.”

Note to self: Dumplin' has a name, and it's Amber.

Brighton looked down and demurred. “Oh, I'd love to, but I'm not going to be working here much longer.”

“What?” Clea and Dumplin'—
Amber
—both looked outraged. Not to mention Lila. “Why?”

“I'm here on a temporary basis, and my time is up, I'm afraid.” Brighton nodded across the counter. “But this is the store owner, Lila, and she has lots of fantastic designers she works with—”

“No.” Amber slammed her hand down. “We want
you
.”

Brighton communed with the countertop. “I'm so flattered, but I really—”

“Ooh, what is that?” Clea drifted over to the other side of the showroom.

“What is what?” Brighton joined Lila to see which piece Clea was pointing out.

Lila pulled out the white leather case and handed Clea the massive silver ring. “That's a poison ring.”

“A poison ring?” Clea sounded delighted. “Is that a real thing?”

“Apparently. I'd never heard of it, either, until Brighton filled me in.” Lila and Clea turned to Brighton, who summarized the history and purpose of poison rings.

The sweet-faced starlet with the voice of an angel broke into a diabolical smirk. “So you could actually kill someone with this?”

“I guess theoretically you could.” Brighton didn't like the way
Clea's smile broadened. She hastened to add, “
If
you put actual poison in the chamber, which of course we don't recommend.”

“Yes,” Lila chimed in. “We don't endorse homicide here at the Naked Finger.”

The two-time Oscar nominee rubbed her palms together. “Of course not.”

“They're purely decorative.” Lila sounded a bit panicky.

“A poison ring—I love it. I love everything about it.” Clea examined the stones. “Everything except the actual ring, that is. It's so big and clunky.” She held the ring aloft and turned it from side to side, considering her options. “Can you make a smaller one? Dainty and feminine, with diamonds and platinum?”

“I could,” Brighton said. “If I were staying through the end of summer. But since I'm leaving and I have a bit of a backlog—”

“What backlog?” Lila demanded.

“Don't worry about it,” Brighton said.

“I want it.” Clea addressed Lila. “Make this happen. Make her stay and do this.”

Lila turned to Brighton. “Stay and do this.”

“I'll draw one sketch,” Brighton relented. “But after that—”

“Actually, I want three,” Clea decided. “One for me; two for my friends who are getting divorced. We'll put lovely designs on the outside—flowers or hearts or something—and our exes' names on the inside.” She turned to her BFF from middle school. “What do you think? I need something original, meaningful, and still cute.”

“How about a black dog?” Amber suggested. “We're in Black Dog Bay.”

“Perfect!” Clea exclaimed. “Yes, I want little black dogs on the lids of the poison chambers. Like the dog on the sign at the town border. Can you do that?”